Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on January 12, 2008 0 Comments

I dig

into the earth.

I strive

to gain some advantage

over hard, packed dirt,

laced, with rough-edged



Three packets of seeds


from early Spring,

laying aside.





Clouds gather


threatening to brust.

Torrents of tears

stream silently down.

My face a brazen revelation

of an anguished soul.


The clouds

too heavy, drops their cold rain.

I allow my tears

to become intermingled.


With cracked voice

I cry,

“My love. Oh! My love.”

Reluctantly I forsake my toil.


Turning away,

I look down

at my heavy black dress,

my stomach protruding.

My sole consolation is;


when a seed is planted,

it sprouts forth

in beauty.




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